


Son of Dalmasca

by lynndyre, threewalls



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: 710 OV, Alternate Character Interpretation, Cactoid, Crack, Dalmascan Estersand, Humour, M/M, Sidequest, Wakes & Funerals, Whiskey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-25
Updated: 2008-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/pseuds/lynndyre, https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>"To absent friends."</cite></p>
            </blockquote>





	Son of Dalmasca

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Echoes of the Past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/153497) by [threewalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls). 



Judge Magister Gabranth activated the teleport crystal's matrix in Tsenoble, but it was Basch who landed beside its twin at Dalmasca's western border, feet sinking into the sands. The journey to the crash site in the Ogir-Yensa and back took less than a fortnight. With more than a week's leave remaining, Basch continued a further three days' hike deeper into the Westersand, to the base of a certain cliff-face. From the vantage above, a man could not only spy for sandstorms, but trace the Nebra as it wound from the Mosphorans to the Naldoan sea, and know whether the rains had come to Giza. When they first came here, Vossler had wanted to show him Dalmasca. Basch had gotten heatstroke, and seen rather a lot of Vossler instead.

The shadows lengthened as he pitched his tent, but the fire he built after illuminated the surrounding area enough for what Basch had to do. He dug in the sand with his cupped hands, and into the modest hole, he dropped the buckle, scraps of faded red leather still attached, that he had found in the burnt-gutted wreck of the Shiva. Basch stood, and then kicked to back-fill the hole.

"To absent friends". His voice was hoarse from solitude and sand. He took a swig from the bottle he had carried with him from the Empire, giving his throat another cause to be hoarse. The whiskey was Arcadian, not Dalmascan, but it had been expensive and -- Basch reminded Vossler aloud -- Dalmascan whiskey wasn't properly whiskey at all. He poured a goodly portion out, anointing the makeshift grave before taking another burning gulp. With the whiskey near boiling from days sitting in his pack, it was not the sacrifice it could be. Dalmascans might prefer their funerals, but he was Landian enough yet to prefer the wake.

And the traditional post-wake slumber dead to the world.

Basch woke when the sun was already high, and staggered blinking out of his tent, glad the vanish spell was part of the cloth, for he would have been incapable of casting it the night before. He counted no less than four wolves on the horizon, but they stayed distant and he had no desire to hunt. Another day, and he would have to return to the border crystal, and for all that he'd accomplished all he set out to do, it yet felt unfinished. Potion coated his dry tongue and dulled the throbbing at his temples, but it was a poor substitute for whiskey.

Potion gone, he walked to the patch of darker soil at the cliff's base, nursing his water-pouch. The sand seemed to stir as he stared at it. Likely his eyes were simply playing him false, a retaliation for the night's indulgence. He knelt. The mound rippled, then shook -- something was pushing upward beneath the sand.

Basch rose, stepped backwards, caught his heel on a rock and sat down hard. He was mad, or dreaming; he could not care.

Something-- someone surged from the earth, shaking the sand from skin that looked beer-washed under Dalmasca's sun, standing proud and wearing nothing but his red leather collar.

"--Vossler?"


End file.
